Better Luck Next Year

A Tale of Two Seasons

Remember the Titans? 

Remember the New England Patriots? Remember when Chad Pennington wore green and white and was a great guy, but not much of a quarterback in New York? 

Remember Brett Favre's tears and the drama that surrounded all that? Who knew?

Well, this is the life of a sports fan...not a fanatic, mind you. You'd never catch me calling in on one of those ridiculous sports radio shows just to hear myself talk. This is my final, I promise, statement on the current state of affairs of my beloved Gang Green, as they dump Eric Mangenius...and hope to find someone better to lead the charge next year. This is not a sports blog, nor do I want it to become the random ramblings of my demented mind. I am glad I'm a writer and a teacher, and that I don't live my life in the spotlight like these guys do. It's certainly a very cruel life! 

         So farewell to Eric Mangini...perhaps you, like Chad, will fare better elsewhere. Brett, I'm sure, will retire this time, for real. Meanwhile, I  fired the whole Jets team a number of years ago and found myself lost when football season began once again. For now, none of the teams above...with the possible exception of the NY Giants...and possibly the Pittsburgh Steelers (Oh God...I didn't say that!) have the only possibilities for me in the balance. This job of hanging on to a team that makes me believe for the first half of the season then leaves me laying flat in the end zone come playoff time is pure torture. Thank God for pitchers and catchers, a mere 49 or so days away! Go Mets...bring on springtime! (PS: Mets? Well, that's a whole 'nother story. My son would not allow Mets ornaments on our tree this year for fear that it might collapse!! But ya gotta believe, and so I do.)

Full of It.

Did anyone see that moon last night? I had the thankless task of taking out the garbage, or dealing with the smell of it when I woke up this morning. Yick. I ran out in a long-sleeved tee and jeans...and sock feet too. I know, crazy, right? Well, that is the life of a hopeless right-brained writer. And then I stopped dead in my tracks. The sky was a deep blue and the silhouetted pines edged the horizon. That huge white winter globe hung there too, over the garage, a show for me alone. I stood there, like a dumb little kid, garbage bag in my hand and feet frozen to the pavement. This morning, I awoke and my moon was still there, suspended over the farmer's field, distant but very much evident in the early morning. And then...what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature tractor and eight...bulbous brown steer. Well...no, they were a mix of black and brown, now that I think about it. The farmer was bundled,  and he was following the curve of the land in a very purposeful drive up and down the hillside. I wanted to stay, to ask him, what in the sam hill he was doing at 6:30 AM in December. Don't farmers sleep late in these winter months? I had no time, I was late. 

But later, my curiosity got the best of me.  When I got to my coffee stop, I had to ask one of the guys there. Of course, I learned, as I already knew...I am full of it. I call myself a country mouse, but I know absolutely nothing. I'm a country romanticist is what I am. I love all the fluff, but I know nothing of the work. Apparently that farmer was fertilizing. Fertilizing! What? That's the strangest verb I've ever heard. He was dumping cow poop on his field. The real verb should be something like manuring, but not too many people like to think about things like that. Cover it up and make it sound pretty. Make it fertile, Mr. Farmer, dump your poop. It's okay. 

Now I'm beginning to hear the talking heads talk about my Jets and what's going to happen if they don't win tomorrow. More manure, and lots of it. It's drama and hype, plain and simple. Lots of fertilizing going on there. I'm a Mets fan and a Jets fan...and if there's one thing I really am thin-skinned about it is all the "fertilizing" that goes on around my teams. I still believe anyway. I think I'll just step outside and look up. I know my moon is hanging out there over my garage. And all will be well with the world. Ya gotta believe!